


Interlude

by veronamay



Category: Boondock Saints (Movies)
Genre: Early Work, M/M, Missing Scene, Plot What Plot, Twincest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-02-08
Updated: 2004-02-08
Packaged: 2017-10-20 17:31:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/215264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/veronamay/pseuds/veronamay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The boys take a few moments to recover after their first encounter with Il Duce.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Interlude

**Author's Note:**

> This story is for [lydia_petze](http://lydia-petze.livejournal.com), to whom I promised filth. Hope this cranks your turn, my sweet.

"How's the leg?"

Murphy sat down next to him on the couch, careful not to jog his wounded thigh. Connor hissed in pain anyway but was grateful to be alive to feel it.

"It hurts like hell. Thank Christ we didn't have to dig the bullet out." He glanced at Murphy's bandaged arm next to his own. "What about that?"

"This?" Murphy ghosted his hand over it. "It's nothing. I'll be fine." But he was still very pale from their self-inflicted cautery, and he moved the arm gingerly. Connor stopped himself from leaning into Murphy's warmth as he so often did. Like a couple who share a bed for any length of time, they were used to being on one side of each other, Murphy almost always on Connor's right, bracing each other up. They'd have to swap their customary positions until they were both healed or they'd keep reopening the wounds. It'd feel strange, but Connor wasn't keen on another session with a red-hot iron to close his leg up again.

Thoughts of sharing a bed led him to wonder where Rocco was, and whether they could escape him for a while. Murphy saw him angling to look through to the kitchen and guessed his question before he voiced it.

"He's gone to get beer," Murphy said. "I told him to get some food as well. Bet he forgets, though."

"When did he leave?" asked Connor, thinking, _How long do we have?_ Murphy looked at him and smiled slowly.

"Just now. He'll be a while." His eyes had acquired a lazy gleam. "Did you want him to get something else?"

Connor shifted a bit on the couch, spreading his good thigh out to ease the sudden constriction in his jeans. Still running high on adrenalin and endorphins, his body was already starting to hum with anticipation. He met Murphy's gaze and his pulse kicked up a notch.

"I'd really like it if he got lost," he murmured. "Just for a little while."

"He's gone for beer, Connor," Murphy said. His teeth flashed sharp and white in his grin. "He'll be taking his time. You know Rocco – he always has to stay for at least one. And one for the road. And one to find the road again."

Connor slouched comfortably and maneuvered his bad leg onto the coffee table. "And here we are with an empty house," he mused, pulling off his t-shirt and dropping it on the floor.

Murphy's smile turned wicked. He was off the couch and on the floor between Connor's knees in seconds, his good hand busy with belt buckle and zipper, the bad arm held close to his side.

"Careful," Connor warned him, but he needn't have bothered. Murphy had gentle hands. Connor remembered their tenth summer, when they discovered an abandoned litter of kittens near the house; Murphy had held them in much the same way as he handled Connor now. His jeans came off without a twinge from the bullethole in his thigh, and he was thankfully bare beneath them. Doubly thankful, since Murphy was evidently pleased as well.

"It's still freezing fucking cold, there's holes all through your clothes and you decide to go bare-arsed underneath," Murphy said in disbelief. "Only you, Connor."

"You're not complaining, are you?" Connor shot back. Murphy shook his head.

"Easy access," he said, and leaned in. Connor closed his eyes and exhaled heavily as Murphy nuzzled around his groin, licking traces of dried blood from his skin. Then wet heat and suction enveloped his cock and a warm hand began to fondle his balls, and his own hands automatically moved to cradle Murphy's head. It had been days since they'd had leisure to do this. Murphy was being mindful of his leg, almost too mindful in fact; Connor gripped his brother's head a little tighter.

"More," he said. "Harder, Murph."

Murphy turned his head to look up without letting Connor's cock out of his mouth, and Connor nodded and stroked his hollowed cheek. Murphy squeezed his balls in response. Connor fell back and lifted his good leg onto the arm of the couch, wordlessly inviting, feeling comfort and lust and love all together. Murphy took the invitation; his hand moved back to rub against Connor's perineum as he sucked, increasingly harder strokes bringing Connor quickly to climax almost against his will. He remembered to stay still while his orgasm shuddered through him, spreading through every nerve and leaving him limp and relaxed, sprawled negligently on the battered couch; a post-battle release more than anything else. Murphy stayed on the floor, stroking and sucking right through to the end and swallowing to save the mess. He didn't normally like to swallow, and Connor found it bittersweet that he'd do it now. Things were changing for them. Deception was going to be a necessity now.

Murphy levered himself off the floor and settled in close beside Connor. The angle was awkward with Connor's leg in the way, but they managed a kiss while Murphy tried to get his own clothes off one-handed. Connor watched, holding Murphy's left hand to keep his arm still as he worked his shirt off. There was sweetness to be found in all of this, knowing that they might be worse off the next time they took up their guns in the name of God. He was in no hurry to end it; they might not get another chance.

"Motherfucking _bastard_ ," Murphy said at last, standing up and shoving his jeans and underwear off his hips. Connor laughed and helped pull them down far enough, and Murphy sat back down and looked from his lap to Connor's leg and up to meet Connor's gaze.

"This isn't gonna work, is it?" he said, grinning despite his cock standing straight out and demanding attention. "We're on the wrong sides."

"I can reach," Connor said. "Come over." He leaned in to kiss Murphy again and reached down to take hold of his cock, but the angle was wrong with the one hand and his leg flared in pain after only a couple of strokes with the other, because of the reach. "Damn it," he said in disgust. "Why'd the stupid fucker have to shoot me in the leg, for Christ's sake?"

"And why did we decide to do this here when there's a bed in the next room?" Murphy added, still grinning. He reached with his good arm to rub his thumb over Connor's lips. Connor bit at it and drew it into his mouth, tasting blood and sweat and traces of leather. He slowly let Murphy's thumb slide out of his mouth as an idea came to him.

"Do it for me," he said. "Do it yourself, so I can watch."

Murphy's eyes locked with his; his hand drifted down to his lap and he took hold of his cock, stroking slowly and lightly down over the head. Connor took his other hand again and twined their fingers together in his left hand, pulling Murphy close with his right to share a deep kiss that left him lightheaded. Murphy pulled back, gasping, his hand beginning to speed up. Connor stroked his chest, teasing his nipples and stroking up around his neck to grab a handful of his hair; Murphy loved to feel commanded. A noise escaped Murphy as Connor gripped and pulled, and his hand clenched on his cock, covering the head as his orgasm overtook him. Connor waited through it, touching as much of Murphy's bare skin as he could reach, then taking his hand and licking it clean. Murphy's taste was salt and sharp in his mouth, but he didn't mind. If they had to make this a secret, so be it. Better that than to give it up.

He threw a glance at the clock, not knowing how much time had passed. It was nearly dark; Rocco would be back before nightfall, unless he was already drunk, in which case they might not see him until morning. Connor found himself hoping for the latter, but he wasn't counting on it. Murphy tossed him his t-shirt and started the arduous task of getting himself clothed again.

"Stand here," Connor said. "I'll do it." He zipped Murphy's jeans and fastened his belt, then tried to help get his shirt back on. Murphy inhaled sharply when he raised his arm, but he got the sleeve on and the bleeding didn't start again. Getting Connor back into his jeans was a bit trickier but they managed it eventually, with much cursing and laughter in the process. He could at least stand up, which was a blessing. Murphy was apparently having the same thoughts; his eyes were glued to the wound as he drew the denim over Connor's thighs.

"If this had been just an inch over ...." he said. "You could've bled to death in front of me." He pressed a light kiss to the torn denim.

"But I didn't," Connor said, cupping the nape of his neck. "I'm right here, Murph."

"But you might tomorrow," Murphy said. They shared a look. Connor read fear and doubt in his brother's eyes.

"I might," he agreed. "If that's God's will. I don't think it is though. Do you?"

Murphy looked at him for a bit longer, his gaze unchanged. "I hope not," was all he said. But he leaned in for another kiss as though to seal a bargain, and Connor felt his faith even if he didn't say it.


End file.
